


Disturbed

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Demons, M/M, Obsession, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Arthur Kirkland, a lonely accountant, decides to make a dramatic change in his life in an attempt to get past his anxiety, non-existent self-esteem and obsession for a certain musician named Alfred F. Jones. A story about fandom, love and other demons. More creepy USUK and heavy metal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N – Hello again, my dears! What do you know, I'm back with yet ANOTHER of this creepy stuff I've been producing lately. Oh, and just for conversation's sake, I must warn you it's the scariest yet. Alfred is a singer (again… pfft…) and yes, as you will quickly come to realise, our favorite Englishman is slightly delusional for the best part of this story. Also, Arthur needed another brother in this one, so I chose Scotland (whose accent I wholeheartedly hope I did not screw completely… if I did I humbly apologise).

_Allistor Kirkland - Scotland_

* * *

' _ **My name is Arthur Kirkland and, before any of the below events had come to pass, like probably a lot of people in this world, I hated myself, my life and pretty much everything related, for a wide variety of reasons.'**_

From his window Arthur could see his older half-brother Allistor slamming the door of his car and stomping angrily into the building. It was clear as daylight that the tall redhead was having one of 'those days' , so the blond rushed to the front door of their small apartment and opened it while the other still unsuccessfully searched for the keys in his pockets, letting out a harsh string of curses in the process.

"Good to see ye're still alive!" he grumbled humorlessly, storming inside while muttering some more swears.

"And I'm glad to see you're in a good mood again, _brother dear_ ," the green-eyed youth replied meekly, with a wry smile, while ceremoniously standing aside, out of the other's path.

The weary-looking Scot ran a large hand through his unruly hair, dropping his keys on the table. "Have ye ever had the feel that ye're wasting yerself? Me job's a pain, me boyfriend's a bloody bastard!" he burst out. "Hell, man, everyone around me's a bloody bastard!"

"Those present included, I suppose?" Arthur grumbled, closing the door and waiting patiently for the storm to pass. Yes, definitely one of those days and sadly there wasn't any whiskey left to improve his older brother's mood, not that it was ever exceedingly bright.

"And what the blasted hell have you been doing, laddie, besides not answering the bloody phone? Gone deaf or somethin', have ye?"

The blond sighed. Allistor looked fairly scary on a good day and anyone else would have panicked at the shouted words, but he really just had a big, loud (and quite filthy) mouth. "I just came back from work and rested for a while with my headphones on. I had no idea the world was ending or such, _brother dear_ …"

The tall Scot scurried to the kitchen and nearly ripped the refrigerator door open, rolling his eyes. "And here I'd hoped ye were actually doin' somethin' with yer life, anythin' that's not job related. Maybe get focked or somethin'?"

The Englishman said nothing, quietly assessing the damage he'd have to clean up after when Allistor was eventually done with ransacking the fridge in search of a bottle he'd emptied two days before and hadn't bothered to resupply. He only paused for a second, throwing his younger brother a thoughtful glance, a thick red eyebrow quirking questioningly.

"Not in the mood, aye? Bit of a bad sign, ye know?" He straightened his back and closed the door, ignoring the sound of something crashing inside as he did. "Well, been having a bad day, so I'll just change and go out for a bit. Need to clear me head, yeah? Could ye order Chinese while I'm out?"

"Sure…"

The blond blinked tiredly, feeling drained after yet another tedious day at work, flinching as he heard several drawers and wardrobe doors being slammed violently before his stormy brother emerged wearing a casual shirt and a pair of jeans instead of his charcoal work suit and tie. At least now he looked slightly less threatening. Less like a professional bodyguard with military background.

"I'll be going now, see to dinner, aye?"

"Have fun, _brother dear_!" No, Allistor wasn't going anywhere 'to clear his head', but if anything to get it even more cloudy. "Don't get too wasted…" the younger grumbled, starting back towards his own room. At least his evening would be quiet. _For the most part, anyway._

"What did ye say?!"

"Nothing…" Arthur backed off, raising his hands in surrender.

"Watch it! I'm older than ye!" the Scot growled on his way out.

* * *

As soon as he was out the door, Arthur sighed in relief and walked back to his small desk, plopping lazily on the seat. Slowly, he took out the piece of paper he'd hidden in a hurry upon seeing his brother, sinking the pen in the bottle of ink.

_Dear Alfred_ …

The blond watched the red letters neatly written onto the white paper before him, chewing the end of the pen. Why the hell was he doing this again? Why the bloody hell did he feel _compelled_ to do it, like it were a matter of life and death? Nevertheless…

_Dear Alfred_ ,

_I can't do this. I absolutely cannot write some stupid letter to you declaring my total and most sincere devotion, so that you just throw it together with the other ten thousand million whatever stupid letters you already got from other people who are totally and utterly obsessed with you. I'm very much afraid that the best thing I'm capable of right now is to compose a very sad, heartbreaking, terrifying poem that would probably scare the bloody hell out of you. Oh yes, I'm perfectly capable of successfully replacing all your phobias, just that this wasn't the idea…No, in fact the idea was-_

_Shit!_ he thought, gripping the paper with shaky fingers and crumpling it in one swift move. He pulled out the bottle of whiskey ( _Good thing Al didn't remember about this one!)_ and took a long swig directly from it before gathering the stationery from his desk and stuffing it back in the drawer. It took a couple of more healthy mouthfuls of the amber colored liquid until he got the desired, familiar sensation of drowsiness which was so incredibly soothing and the Englishman sunk into the pillows of the small sofa, picking the songs on his MP3 player.

Arthur had nearly dozed off when a cold sensation in the back of his neck made him jump and sit up abruptly. He could feel with surprising clarity that suddenly someone was right behind him. He froze, heart pounding wildly as a strong arm went around his neck, holding tightly.

" _You will always love me,_ " he heard Alfred's voice, soft and sweet. And utterly terrifying. " _I will never let you go._ "

The Englishman's breath got caught up in his throat and cold shudders ran down his spine, nearly making his body convulse. _He_ was real. _He_ was there, in his very room. The thought alone was mind-blowing.

"Why are you doing this?" the blond whispered, finding it hard to believe that he still had a voice.

" _Too bad you are not good enough for me, Arthur. Maybe we should end this right now,_ " the unseen demon whispered back and his grasp tightened. Arthur began to choke, yet he was unable to struggle, despite the wave of panic that washed over him. He knew he should have been thrashing, fighting for life but… more than the gesture itself, the sheer cruelty of the other's words burned him deep inside, reduced him to nothingness.

Suddenly his mobile rang and his head instantly jerked in the direction of the sound, headphone slipping from his ear and Alfred disappeared. _Not real…_ the green-eyed young man thought as he reached out to answer with a trembling hand.

"Have ye fallen into a bottomless pit?!" a well-known voice barked from the other end of the line. "I'm on me way back, hope ye bloody ordered me favorite!"

The Chinese, it had completely slipped his mind. "Oh… yes, sure. I just did, actually…" Arthur lied in a low voice.

"Ye had better! I'm bloody starvin'!" Allistor said and hung up.

_Damn ogre_ … the blond thought, dialing the number of the Chinese restaurant while still shaking and panting. He ordered quickly, then hurried to get rid of the remainder of his whiskey. He really had to stop this bloody drinking stuff soon.

* * *

"Where do ye think we're going tonight, eh laddie?" Allistor asked, good-humored and pressing his napkin to his lips with uncharacteristic gracefulness. Thankfully, he wasn't _too_ drunk and the rich meal had apparently done wonders to his mood.

"Huh? Are we going somewhere?" his younger brother murmured, playing with his fork absentmindedly. After the episode from earlier – and he had to admit it had been the worst yet – he was relieved that the redhead was home. The Scot may have been particularly loud, obnoxious and not the average loving sibling, but his strong presence was comforting to some extent.

"Yeah laddie, we're going to see that band ye like so much perform, Greenhouse…Gas, was it? I got two tickets fer free, plus backstage permits," Allistor said winking and the Englishman briefly hoped he hadn't beaten them out of someone. "It's been ages since last time I've been to a concert. And from what I remember that… Alfred or something ain't exactly an eyesore, aye?"

The green-eyed young man jumped slightly at the news and tried to hide his sudden emotion. "It's Greenhouse _Theater_ , _brother dear_ …" he corrected dryly. Was he seriously doing this on purpose? "And yes, I suppose he's… somewhat of a handsome fellow…" Arthur agreed to the last statement.

"Is he single?" Allistor asked out of the blue, downing the remainder of his beer.

The Englishman flinched - it sounded quite weird to know that someone else was interested in Alfred (of all people!) the way he was. _As if the curse of this love was mine alone_ … "No, I think he has someone…" he murmured weakly. The truth was that he knew for sure, but wouldn't spoil the redhead's fun, not when he was in such good spirits.

"Oh what do ye know, that's never been a problem before…" the Scot laughed loudly.

"Right…" _Oh bollocks, maybe he gets in a fight again,_ he told himself slightly amused. He wasn't jealous of his older brother, for Allistor this type of stuff just came and went, he really wasn't the man to put much heart in it. Just plenty of… something else, if he were to quote exactly. Arthur dragged himself back to his room to prepare, once more beginning to feel the influence of the terrifying vision from earlier.

_Maybe I should get out more. Meet people. Avoid being alone. It all happens when I'm alone._

"And wear somethin' nice, fer fock's sake!"

* * *

It turned out that getting backstage after the concert was a matter of life and death for quite a significant number of people. A group of hysterical fangirls even pushed down a bodyguard in their attempt to get to where their favorite band was. The screams were deafening and Arthur feared he'd end up being trampled upon if it weren't for his brother's strong hand gripping his own tightly as he pulled him determinedly through the crowd, towards the door.

_Right, it's alright, it appears that there are other people a lot crazier than me. That's a good thing, I'm feeling better already_ the Englishman thought, despite the countless elbows he'd gotten on all sides, as the grinning redhead waved his backstage permit at the screaming fans.

It was fairly dark backstage, all lights seeming to concentrate on the large table where the band sat, signing autographs. Arthur stumbled, nearly tripping on some cables and if not for his brother's steady hand he would have landed on his face for sure. But then his eyes fell on the tall, muscular blond clad in a simple black t-shirt and he froze, swallowing hard. He was simply beautiful as he sat there, attracting all the light, bathed in a golden glow as he smiled and chatted with the lucky boys and girls while scribbling widely on whatever they were offering. Arthur found that his legs refused to move, locked in place.

"Come on now!" his brother urged, but this time the evil spell was too strong to be undone.

"I-I can't…"

"Bloody hell man, don't be like that!" the Scot hissed angrily. "Asking for a bloody autograph won't kill ye!"

"No, I-I can't!" the green-eyed young man jerked his hand away, cheeks flushed and nearly trembling in panic. And he really couldn't, that much was crystal clear. But his eyes were glued on that man, his bliss and his torment, the one and only Alfred F. Jones.

"Oh fine, let me do all the work…"

Allistor walked casually up to the table and leaned on it with a large smile. He said something to Alfred as he motioned back towards his younger brother and handed him a piece of paper. The singer flashed a bright smile in turn and glanced in Arthur's direction, holding the terror-stricken blond's gaze for a few moments. He then laughed softly before grabbing his pen to sign.

_Oh, BLOODY HELL! He laughed at me! He thinks I'm pathetic! Oh, fuck! He thinks… he thinks…_

The voice screaming inside Arthur's skull was becoming unbearable, filled with poison and his demon's words from his earlier day dream, still fresh on his mind, found themselves confirmed by what he'd just seen. Now that Alfred had seen him for real, in flesh, right before his very eyes, he could tell how pathetic he was. He knew, from just one glance. It was obvious, just like Arthur had thought, he had 'loser' written on his forehead. He sprang out, slamming the door in his wake, hastily making his way through the crowd to a quiet place and once there he leaned against a wall, breathing hard.

_Too bad you are not good enough for me…_

_Not good enough for me…_

Oh, bloody hell…

* * *

"Now why the bloody fock did ye run out like that?"

Arthur eventually heard his brother's once again comforting voice and snapped out of it, quickly wiping away the bitter tears before the other would notice. "I-I don't know, I just… he looked at me in a funny way…" he stuttered, embarrassed. "It made me feel uncomfortable…"

"Oh, ye got scared? Too bloody sensitive fer yer own good, I told ye! But ye should have seen how his boyfriend looked at me! Like he was about to chop me bloody head off!" Allistor pointed out.

"His boyfriend was there?" the Englishman asked casually, regaining his composure for the most part. In truth, he hadn't even seen if Alfred was with anyone. His eyes had really seen _only_ him, and that was more than enough. It had been a very bad idea, coming here tonight.

"Yeah, that wee blond. He looked so fragile and innocent, but he's one guardian from hell, I tell ye!" the redhead went on, rather amused at the occurrence and making Arthur laugh awkwardly in turn. "Ah, fock him, subject closed! Here, I got this fer ye."

"Thank you, Al." The green-eyed young man took the folded piece of paper and stuffed it in his pocket without even looking at it. "How about we get something to drink?"

And there he was, Arthur scolded himself inwardly and without much purpose, once again taking refuge into his vice to escape how he felt, as if he didn't bloody well know that once he was sober again, it would all be just as bad.

_**To be continued** _


	2. Chapter 2

"I think our landlady is peeking through the window…" Allistor observed randomly as the two brothers stumbled off the cab. "Now could ye please make an effort to stop laughing and walk bloody straight?" he also suggested, supporting the blond's arm. Arthur giggled drunkenly and clung to his brother's strong frame, briefly having a mind to give the nosy old lady the finger with both hands.

Dark blue eyes followed the two curiously as they made their way into the building, trained onto the smaller, slender green-eyed blond. A smirk bloomed and grew on the man's face, as he carelessly flipped one long strand of golden hair over his shoulder. He then glanced down at his pale, long fingered hands which currently held a flyer advertising for the next Greenhouse Theater live concert.

"Only a matter of time now, _monsieur_ Alfred F. Jones..." the stranger muttered with satisfaction, crumpling the flyer and tossing it disdainfully in a nearby trash bin.

* * *

Finally back in his own room, which happened to be spinning ever-so-slightly, the Englishman realised he was too tired to even strip for the night. He dropped limply onto the bed, kicking his shoes off before slipping under the covers and pulling them over his head. Being drunk was such a relief from the regular haunting demons: job, over interfering family, love… or rather the absence of it. He was free in the realm of dreams. But this sometimes brought danger…

_He was back at the old house. Grandmother had rented only one room, but as a child he'd always wanted to explore the rest of it as well. Now, for some strange reason, the house appeared to be empty of tenants, there was no one in sight and all the doors were open. It seemed that for once he would be able to see the whole place, so the blond strolled slowly down the corridor, glancing into the various rooms sunken in pale moonlight pouring in through the large, Victorian windows. They were, as he'd always remembered or imagined, filled with old dusty carpets and cracked, heavy furniture laden with various everyday items, countless drawers he'd been curious to open and rummage in, shelves with countless books he'd been so eager to leaf through._

_Strange that his wish be granted now, when he was no longer a child and the charm of those things had mostly faded, he thought, walking in one of the dim-lit rooms and letting his gaze wander about, taking in that eerie stillness. But then, suddenly, his eyes were drawn to the one thing which did not belong with the rest. Alfred._

_The American was currently sitting in a sunken armchair forgotten in a dark corner, his face shaded from the light. Arthur wanted to run, his mind was screaming at him to put some distance between him and the other, but his legs refused to move. He could only stand there helpless, eyes widened in horror as Alfred slowly sat up, the old armchair creaking startlingly in his wake._

" _Why are you fighting your feelings?" he asked softly as he advanced towards the smaller blond and caressed the cheek which had turned white as a sheet with the back of his hand. His deep blue eyes shone mysteriously behind the spectacles._

_Arthur didn't answer, only succeeding in tearing his gaze off that unearthly handsome face and looking away._

" _Do you want to be mine?" Alfred asked again, but the Englishman knew that it was hardly a question. It was a certainty. There was no doubt that there wasn't even the tiniest bit of his being which did not wholly belong to Alfred._

" _Yes," the green-eyed blond breathed out, his last bit of free will leaving him along with that single word._

" _Good." The other's strong arms lifted him effortlessly. "I shall take you to my bed now."_

_Arthur sighed when his back met a cool, soft mattress. But from then on, there was no more gentleness. Nimble fingers hastily unbuttoned his shirt, nearly ripping the fabric while sharp teeth attacked the sensitive skin of his throat, more biting than kissing. He started to pant slightly as the other advanced down on his body, baring more and more skin and leaving nips and bruises in his wake. There was a strange, sick sort of pleasure in the pain Alfred was inflicting and eventually his body gladly opened to the rough intrusion, the brutal heat of that rod of flesh, even as it ripped him in two with forceful, violent thrusts and the pain, the pain... But he was taken, claimed, it was more than he could have ever hoped for._

" _Rest now, babe. I will come later and sleep with you again," the American murmured, licking the mixture of sweat and tears from the smaller blond's face, grinning widely, predatorily._

_The Englishman closed his eyes as he saw the other's fingers gently touching his face. Suddenly the bed began to sink, lower and lower into darkness. Green eyes opened, wide and confused, to see Alfred pull a lid over the pit in which the bed had sunk and he was left in complete darkness._

" _It's a tomb!" Arthur cried and heard a chuckle outside. His body felt numb and he knew he was dead._

The blond jumped violently from his sleep and trembling hands frantically searched and switched on the lamp on the nightstand. It took a few moments to realize where he really was before he collapsed back onto the pillows, still shaking.

"B-bloody hell..." He hauled himself up again and slowly opened the drawer and glanced at the paper with Alfred's autograph, which he'd left unfolded. Arthur shook his head, scowling and wanting to simply tear it to pieces, but he knew he couldn't. The sick magic holding him prisoner was simply too strong, so the green-eyed youth pushed the drawer back slowly and let himself fall back on the bed, leaving the lamp on.

* * *

Arthur stumbled into the small kitchen plagued with the usual lack of morning enthusiasm. "Morning, Al," he grumbled yawning while opening a cabinet and pulling out his cup and favourite tea blend. Courtesy of the redhead, the kettle was already put to boil, so he plopped lazily at the table to wait.

"Mornin' laddie. Ye look like shit," Allistor greeted in turn, shoving a plate of toast in his younger brother's general direction. "The water's boiling, if ye haven't noticed."

Groaning, Arthur stood up again and picked up the hissing kettle, pouring and filling both their cups. He then returned to his seat, his gaze trailing warily to the plate of toast. As usual, it looked like the baker had stepped on a bloody landmine, the blond thought, propping his head in his hands. However, he knew better than to complain about the very few things Allistor ever bothered to do.

"Thank you for pointing that out, _brother dear_. My head is pounding and I had a horrible nightmare…" Arthur felt the need to explain while staring into his own reflection in the teacup as the water infused and darkened.

"And here I thought ye drank too much!" the Scot laughed.

"I was back at Gran's house and... I don't know, out of the blue some weird fellow grabbed me and locked me up in a tomb," the green-eyed blond said quickly, reaching nervously for a piece of toast, not feeling like going through it all over again. But he needed to tell someone, anyone. Even Allistor.

Except his older brother wasn't paying any attention while leafing through the correspondence between hurried sips of his own tea and messily munching on his toast. "Ye look what shit came with the mail today," he said picking a flyer from the pile in his lap and tossed it on the table.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, spreading butter on his bread and fighting back a grimace.

"Some add from a music magazine… Like who the bloody hell reads that?"

The Englishman leaned over the table to get a better look. "It says here that the D.S.T.D are looking for a new drummer. Oh…" he said.

"D.S.T.D? Isn't that a drug of sorts, aye?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, glancing at the redhead and seriously wondering if he was doing it on purpose. But the Scot looked perfectly innocent and oblivious. "That's _LSD_ , _brother dear_... D.S.T.D is a heavy metal band," he explained holding up the flyer showing a picture of said band. "I have some of their songs, they're quite good, actually."

"Bollocks..." the other muttered in reply.

"I think I'll give it a try," the Englishman said in a rush. It was probably completely crazy to even _think_ of it, but... it was just a try, right?

Allistor looked up from the pile, tossing a couple of envelopes aside and stared at his younger brother for a moment. He then reached out and grabbed the flyer, glancing at the band's picture with furrowing eyebrows.

"Laddie, first of all, take a look at these fine men and then take a look at yerself. Does it seem to ye like ye fit in? And second, I very much doubt that the wee bit of practice ye had last year in that basement made ye the ultimate super drummer," he observed dryly.

Arthur scowled, annoyed. "Well cheers for being so bloody supportive when I finally decide to do something with my life that's not job related!" Just now that he'd had an idea that was 'out of the box', of course his brother didn't take him seriously.

"I don't want ye to be disappointed, that's all. And I wouldn't like ye to do anythin'… extreme either," the Scot said sighing.

"Well it so happens that now I'm in the mood for doing something extreme, _brother dear_ , whether you like it or not! I'm be going!"

* * *

_Oh, bloody brilliant! Just when I decide to finally do something out of the ordinary with my not-so-exciting life, I'm late!_ Arthur thought annoyed as he jogged up the stairs of Freak Garage Studios, following the instructions of the flyer. Finally arrived at the indicated door, the blond stopped to catch his breath and listened. Loud music came from inside, almost deafening and he gathered that there was probably someone else in already. The Englishman spotted a large mirror on the other side of the hall and walked up to it, critically examining his simple green t-shirt and black jeans, then his short blond hair, naturally sticking in all directions. With a deep sigh, he decided that he looked awfully plain.

"Oh, bollocks!" he muttered scowling and ruffled his hair further, shaking his head.

Arthur turned around startled when the door opened and a muscular young man with waist long dread locks stepped out and slammed it after him, swearing out loud. Taking a deep breath, he had a few moments of hesitation before deciding to knock.

"Come in," said a faint voice from inside.

The Englishman cracked the door open shyly, peeking inside. His eyes fell on the three men in the room, surprised to see them in the flesh for the first time. There was the lead singer - a tall blond with piercing blue eyes and long hair tied up in a low ponytail - and two others, an olive-skinned youth with green eyes and curly brown hair and an albino with a bit of a creepy grin. They were all clad entirely in black and various tattoos and piercings complimented their outfits. That and all three of them were stunningly handsome. To say he didn't fit in was a bit of an understatement.

"Oh, h-hello," he stuttered in a low voice, uncomfortable at suddenly becoming the center of attention.

The tall blond gave him a rather amused once-over. "Hello, _mon ami_. Can I help you?" he asked in a are-you-lost-little-boy kind of tone.

Arthur nodded, less and less convinced that this had been a good idea. It had probably been a bloody awful idea. "Um… yes… I'm here for the drummer audition." He cleared his throat. "If it's still open, that is…"

The others stared at him positively confused, but the singer simply shrugged with a smile. "Well, actually we started this morning, but we weren't very lucky so far, so I guess you are welcome to give it a try, _mon ami_. By the way, I am Francis Bonnefoy – vocal, this is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo – guitar and Gilbert Beilschmidt – bass," he made the introductions.

"A pleasure to meet you, I'm Arthur Kirkland," the smaller blond replied, a bit stiff.

The Frenchman (oh bollocks, he was French!) smiled again. "Well, why don't you tell us a few things about yourself? Any previous experience in a band?"

_Oh, bloody brilliant, I knew he'd ask that!_ "N-no… never. Actually, I just took some private lessons…" Arthur lied, hoping that sounded fancy or something.

"Hmm, I guess you never know," Francis said. "Ah _bien_ , let's see how we sound together, then. Your pick," he added motioning to the drum set with a grin.

The green-eyed blond pondered for a bit. "How about _Haunting_?"

" _Mais oui_! Oh, and don't be afraid to just… let go," the singer whispered encouragingly, giving him a quick wink.

_Wha-?_

* * *

The beat just flowed by itself and Arthur wondered what he'd been so afraid of. This was a lot easier than expected. As for Francis, he was simply… inspiring. Everything about him, his voice, his movements and his entire way of being emanated sheer power and the aspiring drummer let himself be carried away by the magic of the song, just as he'd suggested.

Arthur almost didn't realize when the song was over. He put down the drumsticks with a clumsy gesture, thankful that at least he hadn't dropped them. It would have been so much like him to screw up at the end. Warily, he looked up to observe the others' reaction. They all seemed dumbstruck, except for Francis, who was smiling again. He gathered the other band members in one corner and they all whispered for a while something the smaller blond could not hear.

"So, Arthur," Gilbert said at last, "If you're still interested, you're welcome to join us."

The Englishman jumped slightly. Was this possible? They didn't think he was pathetic, like the rest of the people in this world did? "R-really?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"Real as hell," Francis joked. Antonio nodded too.

"Oh.. cheers then!" he said smiling broadly.

"Okay, _mes amis_ , it's been one very long day," the taller blond said stretching his arms. "There's a very nice bar nearby, why don't we all go get a drink?"

* * *

"So, Arthur, tell us who is your 'role model' drummer. I'm sure you have one," Antonio said, as soon as the drinks arrived.

"Yeah, I do. Actually it's Christoph 'Doom' Schneider. He inspired me into wanting to go from accountant to drummer..." the green-eyed youth confessed awkwardly.

"So what other bands do you like?" the Spaniard (or at least Arthur thought he was one) asked.

He shrugged. "Actually I listen to quite a wide range of music. Like from Bhangra to metal. But from this genre I'd say… Three Days Grace, um… Godsmack has a couple of cool songs, tried Tool but I'm not sure…"

"Ah _bien_ , and whose lyrics would you say are more disturbing? I sure think they are and-" Francis began.

"Oh, by the way, you should know, Arthur," Gilbert cut in, laughing. "This is one of our regular subjects of debate: who's more disturbed than D.S.T.D. And since we don't have a magic mirror to ask, we end up pestering everyone with this one question."

The Englishman laughed softly in turn. Looked like these chaps were taking their 'concept' very seriously.

"Seriously now," Francis said, stirring the ice in his glass. "I would like to know your opinion."

Arthur scratched his head, struggling to come up with something profound. "Well, they're pretty messed up, but in a different way. I mean, they approach more, um, how should I say, everyday disturbing stuff, while I think you're more… abstract. I think your songs sort of tell tales of demons, of course symbolically speaking..."

Gilbert chuckled."You might have gotten the picture, my friend."

"If you think of it, demons are a key element of the Universe," Francis said thoughtfully. "They're in each and every one of us, in an incredibly large variety of forms. And talking about them is an act of courage, in my opinion, in whatever form should you choose to. My respect to all those who do it."

"An act of courage?" the green-eyed youth asked, a bit puzzled.

"Yes, _mon ami_. It means to admit that we're irrevocably flawed," Francis said in a soft voice, looking straight into his eyes.

"Yeah, and that perfection is basically unattainable," Gilbert added.

Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, looking away from that deep, piercing blue. "I understand," he said, "But when I think of demons, I tend to imagine something more like that creature from the cover of your latest album rather than a part of me..."

"It makes sense. It's an abstract image, yet representative," Antonio agreed.

"Oh, but do you think that creature is abstract, Arthur?" Francis asked suddenly.

The Englishman frowned slightly and chewed his lip, in search of a hidden meaning. "I suppose, I never met it 'in person' and I don't think anyone has," he replied shrugging. He'd intuited that Francis was rather playful, but he wasn't really trying to scare him with such a silly thing, was he?

"Except for our fans when they bought the album," the other blond said in a mysterious tone.

Arthur simply smiled shyly in reply, finding it wise not to mention that he'd never bought a D.S.T.D album in his whole life.

_**To be continued.** _


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur felt like he'd strayed into a dream. This was beyond his wildest imagination, to become part of one of his favorite bands! Bloody hell, it was HUGE! Everything, _absolutely everything_ was going to change, he thought happily, almost bouncing up the stairs to his and his brother's apartment.

A loud sound of something breaking on the other side of the door, followed by a substantial load of curses, indicated that Allistor was at home. _Well, maybe not everything…_ Sighing, the Englishman let himself in, his gaze searching warily for whatever disaster his older brother had produced this time. And he was quick to discover it – for some peculiar reason one of the kitchen cupboards had collapsed onto the floor and all its contents, namely most of the dishes, were irremediably compromised.

Arthur blinked, his gaze trailing back and forth between the spectacular mess and the redhead's sheepish smile. „Wha-...?"

"Ye alright, laddie? How'd that... audition thing go?" Allistor asked, raising a thick eyebrow as he collected himself from the pile of rubbish and dusted some shards off his shirt. He stood up to full height and, much to his brother's relief, he didn't appear to be injured.

The green-eyed blond cleared his throat, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Fine. It went quite well, actually. They accepted me."

"Wha-?! They accepted ye? So, are ye goin' to be a celebrity now? Should I ditch me boss and guard ye instead?" the Scot laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Um… no. I mean, I'm not thinking like that. It's just a… change of job. And if it doesn't work out I can always go back to being an accountant," Arthur explained, scratching his head. "After all, I'm going to be a drummer, that's all."

Allistor rolled his eyes. "And how are those lads, ye reckon? I mean, they looked sort of dark in that picture, how do ye know they're not goin' to lock ye up in a tomb as well?" he joked. _Oh, so he had heard me after all..._

The Englishman sighed again, waving his hand in dismissal. "I don't know, _brother dear_. But I'm ready to risk, I suppose..." he replied as he walked to his room and pulled an old suitcase from under the bed.

"Hey, why are ye packing?"

The blond chewed on his lip, suddenly uncomfortable. It was weird enough as it was, but it was going to sound even more so. "Um, Al, I forgot to tell you. They have a big house in which they live, and it also has an incorporated studio and stuff where the rehearsals take place, so… they've offered me to move in with them..."

For once the Scot was speechless, staring at his younger brother stunned. Arthur himself felt overwhelmed by the whole thing, but for some reason he was determined to get into it head first, whatever the outcome, he was desperate for a change. A complete change of his life, which at this point was nothing but burdensome.

"So what, ye're leaving, just like that? Ye're moving in with some lads ye've just met?"

Well yes, _that_ was slightly insane. But it wasn't exactly like moving in with the band… He would just be living in a sort of an apartment in the same house. But Allistor looked upset and the Englishman felt a tinge of guilt at having suddenly caused it.

"Oh fock!" the redhead burst out. "I really hate ye! Now with ye gone, me stupid boyfriend will want move in with me, and I don't want that!"

Oh... so _that_ was his problem. Arthur rolled his eyes, completely uncomprehending of the nature of his older brother's apparently troublesome relationship and why it endured, despite it causing frequent bad anger management episodes and material damage. But of course, it was none of his business.

"Tell him that if he moves in he'll have to pay half of the rent. That will probably deter the chap," he said dryly.

* * *

The green-eyed blond observed himself fleetingly in the large mirror which occupied almost an entire wall of his new room. The place was beyond his wildest dreams. The band owned some of the most special houses Arthur had ever seen. What seemed to be an old warehouse from outside was a dark artsy palace inside. The paintings and sculptures of the interior, dominated by black and silvery shades were simply fascinating. But to him it was much more than a cool place to live. Inside, it was a whole new world, where he was safe from past fears. Where he did not think of Alfred.

Plopping down onto the king-size bed, Arthur pulled out his mobile and dialed Allistor's number. Even though he hadn't seen any atomic mushroom clouds or the like lately, he still thought he ought to check on his older brother at least once a week. And besides, tonight was a special occasion.

"Hey Al," he said meekly as a grumpy voice greeted from the other end of the line. "So, what have you been up to?"

The Scot snorted. "A whole lot of nothing, actually. I got meself a new roommate this week, so I still pay half the rent! Bloody boyfriend's out of the picture aye, he was getting on me nerves way too much, he was."

"Oh… right. That's good, I suppose," Arthur stated. _Perhaps he's in a fairly good mood then._ "Listen, _brother dear_ , I called to invite you to our show tonight. Backstage permit included, of course. So… if you don't have other plans, I'll email you the invitation, alright?"

"Really? Can ye get me a VIP seat?" Allistor quickly wanted to know.

The Englishman scowled. "Oh, crap. I don't know if they have any VIP seats, but I can tell you that it's a very special location, some underground club called Heap's Barrel. I mean it's for the true connoisseurs, not a place where like everybody's going…" _Not that I know where everybody's going, that is…._

There was a pause at the other end of the line and the blond sighed, rolling his eyes.

"And what do ye think I should wear?" the redhead mused out loud. "I've seen yer picture on the bloody band's website a few days ago, ye've got to dressing fancy these days. That Goth crap or what's it called…"

Oh well, he'd had to undergo a bit of a change of look. But since Arthur didn't have any tattoos or piercings and wouldn't have been exactly comfortable getting any, Francis had slyly suggested to go for a more 'innocent' sort of look, with just a bit of black eyeliner. Otherwise the 'dress code' was not negotiable, not that the green-eyed youth had any objection to full black and plenty of silvery embroideries.

"Oh I don't know, _brother dear_ , I wouldn't recommend pink… "

Allistor laughed. "Ye won't see me wearing pink in this lifetime, laddie. Say, I'm up for a little chat, so ye go on an' tell me how ye've been. Ye always say 'fine' but… ye know I worry. So tell me – how are those lads in real life?"

_Oh dear God, he worries… that can't be good._

"Actually they're really alright, once you get to know them. I mean, for real you know? There was quite a lot for me to learn about this new 'job', and they've been very supportive with me all this time, especially Francis." Just as he was saying that, the truth hit him. Allistor wasn't worried, he was being nosy. This conclusion was promptly confirmed by a chuckle.

"Francis being?"

Arthur pursed his mouth. "Our singer… I though you checked our website?"

"Help me refresh me memory, is he that wee blond with long hair tied up with a fancy ribbon?"

"He's not small!" the Englishman shouted, but then instantly lowered the phone and threw a wary glance towards the door, hoping no one had heard him. But seriously, their frontman could hardly be described as tiny, he was probably just as tall as his brother. He kicked himself inwardly for having fallen into the redhead's trap.

"Ooooooh, checked, have ye?" Allistor laughed.

Arthur blushed dark cherry. "Shut up! Shut up!" he hissed. "And if you must know, I really never thought of him that way," he went on in a low voice (it was better to have his brother's curiosity appeased than to leave him hanging). "I consider him… warm. Like he's very protective and understanding and all… like a big brother." There. If that wasn't a turnoff, he didn't know what was.

"Big brother, aye? Laddie, ye are a total and utter bloody disaster," the Scot sighed." And it certainly sounds to me like I haven't bullied ye enough when I should've. Shame on me."

The green-eyed youth grimaced. " _Brother dear_ , I can assure you that you are doing a fantastic job as we speak. Look, I'll email you the invitation and the address, please be there – preferably with sufficient clothing on - and don't make a fuss. I have to go now, we've got some preparations to make."

* * *

Francis was more than excited with the performance at Heap's Barrel and his enthusiasm was contagious. The smaller blond had been curious to see the place where Francis had met Gilbert Beilschmidt and decided to form D.S.T.D. The place was huge, rather simple and with almost no lights. They made their way through a vast, screaming audience to the stage in the back. For Arthur it was all still quite intimidating, not being used to this sort of attention. Glancing over the fretting crowd, he spotted Allistor somewhere near the stage, in the company of a tall guy with countless piercings. His bright red hair stood out like a flame in the sea of black. The Englishman waved smiling and his brother responded by ungraciously sticking his tongue out before taking a hearty swig from a bottle of liquor.

"Oh, grow up for fuck's sake," the blond muttered, scowling, but grateful that at least his brother hadn't given him the finger.

"How are you all doing, _mes amis_?!" Francis shouted. The crowd roared. "Tonight, for the first time at the Barrel, please welcome our new British drummer, Arthur Kirkland!" he announced loudly. More screams followed. The green-eyed youth waved his hand with a wry smile and hurried to take his place behind the drum set.

The show indeed exceeded even the expectations of the most extreme fans. The pyrotechnical effects were not something that the band usually put up in their shows, because they were dangerous, but in here they fully gave in to their wild side, as Francis had phrased it. The flames basically surrounded the front of the not so large stage and there were also huge torches on the walls, casting an orange trembling light on the stage and the crowd. Arthur was grateful however that he was placed in the back, away from it.

After an hour and a half, Francis announced the audience that they were going to take a short break before the second part of the show. When the Englishman returned from the dressing rooms with a bottle of cool water, he found Francis in the company of a young man, entirely clad in leather and with waist long jet black hair.

"Arthur, meet Yao Wang, an old friend of mine," he said.

"Hello, aru," Yao said.

"Listen Arthur, Yao is going to replace you for the next song," the Frenchman said quickly, before the drummer even had the chance to answer to the salute.

"What? Why?"

Arthur instantly panicked at the thought that maybe the other considered he wasn't doing a good job. However, the taller blond's sly smile seemed to say otherwise. Francis' deep blue gaze was mesmerizing as he reached and took both his hands in his.

"Because _Down and sick_ is my favorite song, and I know it's one of your favorites too, and I want you to sing with me. Just the melodic parts, I'm not asking you to scream or growl with me," he explained, smiling sheepishly.

The Englishman stared a bit before shaking his head. "N-no way!" Him singing in public was NOT an option.

"Oh, but why not, _mon ami_?"

"Francis, I-I seriously… can't sing," Arthur defended, hoping it was too dark back stage for anyone to actually notice the sudden color in his cheeks.

The Frenchman's thin eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "Yes you can, I heard you singing in your room."

"Well, yes I sing in my room sometimes, but it's bloody awful!" Hell, had the singer really been eavesdropping on him?! "We can't do this to our fans!"

But Francis only laid his hands on the smaller blond's shoulders. "Arthur, listen to me. We can do whatever we want, you just have to believe it. And you have to free yourself. Your worst demon is your fear. _Mon ami_ , let me help you free yourself from your demon…"

And saying that, he suddenly grabbed the Englishman's hand and pulled him out on the stage.

"F-Francis, I really can't do this…" the green-eyed youth stuttered awkwardly once he found himself next to the singer, with a microphone in his hand. He was shaking and he just knew he was going to make a fool out of himself, in an absolutely epic manner. And Allistor was there too – bloody hell, he'd _never ever_ hear the end of this, Arthur thought terrified.

"Just listen to the drum beat, Arthur. Imagine he's here and let yourself go. Tell him all you've stuffed down for so long."

"Uh… _him_?"

Arthur's thoughts instantly flew to Alfred and he suddenly had a frightening feeling that the Frenchman was reading his mind. The mere thought of Francis knowing about his secret and stupid obsession terrified him, but he knew it was impossible. _And still… what is he on about?_ It was as if the crowd had disappeared, all sounds of the show fading into the background and there were only the two of them, surrounded by accursed words which could not, could never be uttered.

"The demon," Francis replied with an all-knowing smirk and the bizarre sensation returned. Alfred from his dreams was there, unseen but close enough to be felt. He was there; ready to poison him again with his disdainful words. And Arthur was going to let him have it.

_**To be continued** _


	4. Chapter 4

The strong, black tea was getting cold as he fidgeted, uncomfortable, struggling for words as he spun the cup between nervous fingers. "Um… I really hope that last night I didn't completely fuck up…"

Nursing their own coffee mugs half-asleep, Gilbert and Antonio looked up in the same time, but the blond carefully avoided their gaze, his eyes stubbornly trained on his cup and almost untouched breakfast plate.

"Nah, I think it was pretty cool," Antonio replied. "I never imagined how a song of ours might sound sung by someone other that Francis and I think the audience liked it too. At least it was unexpected. But you didn't sound bad, I mean it," he added.

"And… didn't you feel better after doing it?" the Frenchman asked suddenly.

Arthur flinched. "Um… sure I felt good." In fact, it had been more than just 'good', it had been like a magic trance, like a feeling of high, of having all the pressure released. But now he didn't feel like continuing the demon talk in front of everyone. After the previous night the demon talk had become something between him and Francis.

The singer simply smiled mysteriously.

Listening to him talk about the whole demon thing was just one of the many ways in which the green-eyed youth felt Francis close to him, but in the same time he knew that he couldn't be completely open to him about what was really going on. He could tell the Frenchman that he was afraid of a lot of stuff, he could tell him he was shy, he could even confess that he had moments when his self esteem was down to the ground, but there was no way in hell Arthur could ever tell him that he was obsessed with a guy to the point he sometimes felt the man around. This was way too much and it might have crossed the line of sanity even for someone as open minded as Francis.

Fortunately the other decided to change the subject. " _Mes amis_ , I just got a call from our manager. I know this comes on short notice, but last night's show was not in the schedule so tomorrow night we will perform at Freak Garage Studios. There will be quite an event, with several bands and stuff and-"

"Hey, Freak Garage Studios is the place we met, right?" Arthur interrupted, not really knowing why, but feeling the need to make sure the other subject had been fully dropped.

"That's right," Francis confirmed. "Tomorrow night will be truly special." He smiled again, watching the shy Englishman intently.

* * *

The night at the Freak Garage Studios brought an unexpected and unpleasant event – it turned out that Greenhouse Theater was also performing. Arthur spotted them soon after he and the others walked in and he instantly felt like he wanted to run away, to be anywhere else but in _his_ presence. As the green-eyed blond made a random eye contact with _him_ , he quickly turned his head, with a grimace.

_What the hell?! What the bloody hell?! That's just some very bad luck!_ No, it didn't matter, it didn't matter at all, the Englishman mentally repeated to himself, his new friends were here, he was safe. D.S.T.D. was the first band to perform and he willed himself to borrow the other's enthusiasm.

Francis' gaze took in the impatient crowd and a wide grin crept on his handsome face. "I bet they expect us to go soft, what with the rest of the 'boybands' here… But I have no such thing in mind. On the contrary, we should set us apart from them as much as we can. Hell, after last night I had just warmed up."

"It's a pity we couldn't put up the pyrotechnics, but we couldn't have all the kiddies and grandmas here pissing their bloomers, now could we?" Gilbert laughed in turn.

* * *

After their performance, Arthur sat numbly on a small chair in front of the large mirror in his dressing room. He'd changed from his stage outfit and removed the black makeup. Pale blonde bangs shadowed his brow as the Englishman kept his head down, propped in his hands, in some sort of stupor. From the stage, Alfred's voice crept to his ears, immensely beautiful and tormenting.

_Demons are inside us, and we are irrevocably flawed._

Eventually he sighed and stood, avoiding his own image in the mirror. The green-eyed youth walked slowly on the corridor which led to the back of the hall. Once in, he hid behind a pillar, watching. All hope that he'd be able to resist this time had vanished without a trace. The band took a short break, and then began to play _Home_. For a few seconds, the smaller blond was under the impression that Alfred had looked in his direction. Arthur looked away quickly, but the other couldn't have recognized him. Emerald orbs filled with tears and he wiped them with a trembling hand. For a short while he had really thought he was healed. But it wasn't true.

"Funny _mon ami_ , when we had the favorite bands talk you never mentioned Greenhouse Theater," Francis whispered in the Englishman's ear from behind, causing him to half turn, a bit startled. And yet he was comforted by the singer's presence.

"Oh no, he's just…" Arthur replied making a vague gesture towards the stage, while trying his best to sound indifferent. Which was far from convincing.

"Hypnotic?" Francis suggested, with his chin propped on the smaller blond's shoulder.

"Francis!"

"Not to me… to you," he purred.

A cold shudder ran down Arthur's spine, suddenly having the feeling that the Frenchman was reading his mind again. He just sighed, unable to reply. Right now, he was horribly disappointed in himself and his own, damned weakness. Just when things had started to work and his life had ceased being a pathetic mess… why? _Why the bloody hell?!_

"Uh… I think I need some fresh air," he muttered weakly and turned towards the exit.

"Great! I thought maybe we could go on a little walk and talk, you know…" Francis suggested.

The green-eyed youth's stomach cringed in fear, sure that the other must have caught on to something. And now he'd want answers which could of course not be given. Some lies would have to be offered instead… he would have to be careful. "About what?"

"About whatever. How does a midnight walk sound to you?"

"Sounds alright, but…"

"You're safe with me," the taller blond said smiling, his arm draping protectively around Arthur's shoulders. "And if we're not the ones to walk fearless in the open, I don't know who is."

The Englishman frowned a little, not sure what he'd meant by that. They walked for a while in silence in the nearby park, until they reached the shore of a small lake. Francis took the drummer's hand in his and the other could feel his warmth, so powerful that he completely forgot about the bitter feelings from earlier. Of course, it was rather… odd to stand there and have his hand held like that, Arthur thought, but still, it was sort of alright.

"Arthur, you know I'm your friend…"

"I know."

"I want you to know that you can tell me anything. Whatever's bothering you," the Frenchman said firmly, yet in a soft voice.

The smaller blond looked into his eyes and chewed his lip. For some peculiar reason, when it came to it, all thoughts of lying to his new friend were gone. There was nothing left but the horrible truth to dwell on. "I don't know, Francis. Sometimes I just think that I don't have to tell you anything… because you already know."

Arthur stared awkwardly at his shoes upon saying that. What the hell, that had probably been a weird thing to say, even considering the circumstances. Weird or stupid. Or both.

"It's true… I won't hide it from you," Francis replied, unexpectedly. He turned and let his gaze wander over the dark water before them. "But just because I received this gift… to see where very few can see… doesn't mean that I want to see…" he paused and turned again to look at the drummer. "… and that it's not a burden for me."

"I'm sorry," the green-eyed youth whispered, not fully understanding what the other had meant. _Other than that he probably finds it troublesome, whatever this is…_

Francis laid his hands on his shoulders. "Arthur, I know this may be a lot of weird stuff for you to take in like in such a short time… Tell me, does it scare you?" he asked softly.

"It's not weird…" Arthur scratched his head. "I mean it is a bit, but… I'm not scared. You make me feel so safe and so strong and in control of myself, like I've never felt in my entire life, Francis," he blurted out, smiling shyly.

"I'm glad you're ok with this, _mon ami_. It's such a relief for me to hear this, thank you."

A few moments of odd silence passed between the two of them before the Englishman gathered the courage to speak his mind. It was probably a bloody awful idea, but the words left his lips anyway. "Francis, have you ever felt this?"

The taller blond drew in a deep breath, looking suddenly vulnerable. "Obsession… Yes. More than once." There was a look of understanding on his calm, friendly features which reassured Arthur completely.

"It drains me. And it makes me feel stupid," he confessed.

"It's a consuming emotion… " Francis agreed. "But you have no reason to feel stupid. The truth is… it's not your fault," he whispered.

The green-eyed blond scowled. "Of course it is! I mean it's all in my mind and shit." What on earth did the Frenchman mean, 'not his fault'? Wasn't recognition the first step towards healing or something? It wasn't like he wasn't _aware_ that he had a problem.

"But don't you ever get the feeling that _he_ is doing all this to you? That he torments you on purpose?"

Arthur flinched violently and his gaze, which had been wandering over the dark water awkwardly, shot up to meet the other blond's. For a brief moment he thought the singer was joking, but Francis' expression was serious, grave even. "No, I don't-" he shook his head, puzzled.

"Listen, Arthur, do you trust me?"

"You know I do, Francis, but why do you say that-"

"Because he does."

_Because he does?_ The drummer hid his face in his hands, shaking his head and said nothing. _This is just mad, mad! And why the hell does he insist on going along with my madness?! Does he think it helps?! It bloody doesn't!_

"It's fine, mon ami," Francis soothed, arms wrapping around Arthur's shoulders and holding him close. "Tonight you will understand everything. Now let's get back. Gilbert is waiting for us."

* * *

Gilbert was indeed waiting outside the hall, smoking a cigarette with a preoccupied air as he paced back and forth. He gave Francis a questioning glance, his gaze then trailing oddly to the smaller blond, but he said nothing.

"Where's Antonio?" Arthur asked.

The albino shrugged, tossing away the butt. "He went home to spend some hours on the phone with his boyfriend. People in relationships are no fun, really, " he said smiling. "I think we should go now, the show's over and we already announced we won't be there for the autograph session."

"Where are we heading?"

"Out to chill. You're gonna like it, my friend. And it will answer some questions too."

* * *

Gorgs was just a bar – in theory. Quite a common place, with the usual counter, the usual row of chairs in front of it, and the usual tables. And a less unusual separate underground location for special guests. Arthur found himself dragged down a treacherous row of stairs into the darkness below and the Frenchman's steady grip on his hand was the only thing which prevented him from taking a nasty tumble on the steps.

"You fellows are really into these dark dungeons, where all the freaks gather," he observed a bit ill-humoredly as they reached the bottom of the troublesome stairs and in the pitch dark he bumped forcefully into the singer's back.

"Freaks are our target audience, Arthur _mon cher_ ," Francis replied with a low chuckle. A door was opened, revealing a large hall lit by colorful, blinding lasers. The club was full and loud music blared from the speakers.

"So now what?" the green-eyed blond asked as they pushed their way through the swaying crowd.

"Now… we get a drink, relax…what else?"

Arthur scowled a bit. "You said tonight I'll understand everything. What exactly will I understand and… how?" he asked, a bit unsure of the phrasing.

Gilbert gave Francis another questioning look, but again he remained silent, as if it weren't his place to speak. For some reason, the drummer began to feel an odd pressure, the whole mystery floating around their words was becoming stressful.

"Yeah, Gil, you know that we said from the beginning that Arthur should feel a part of us," the singer explained. "So I thought it's right that he knows who we are."

"But I know who you are," the Englishman replied, his scowl deepening. This was beginning to sound like some sort of ridiculous game. He hoped with all his heart that they hadn't decided to make fun of him or something.

"Let me rephrase, _mon ami_ \- _what_ we are." Francis said with a strange smile, as he led the way towards the special guest area.

There were several people inside, all gathered in a perfect circle. Francis stepped to the middle of it, while Gilbert and Arthur remained behind. The green-eyed blond could tell he was feeling uncomfortable in this place, surrounded by these bizarre strangers. On top of it all, what Francis had said had made him uneasy. The Englishman's thoughts were interrupted when two strong men dragged a third man in front of Francis and pushed him to his knees. He was quite young and his face was bruised and covered in dirt. He kept his head bowed and rocked back and forth slightly.

"Who's that fellow?" he asked Gilbert.

"An evil doer."

"Evil doer?" _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

The albino shrugged and muttered something he could not hear. All around them, the people in the circle had started a sort of incantation, almost covering the wild music that poured out of the sound system. The noise made Arthur dizzy, as his eyes got fixed on Francis. He placed his palms on each side of the man's head as he began whispering something. Or he was shouting? The drummer could only see his lips moving before the man started to scream. Again, he could not hear it, but his mouth hung open and his eyes were wide with terror.

The Englishman fleetingly thought that he should have been terrified himself, that his brain should have reacted to a human being hurt in front of his very eyes, but his body was numb and his own thoughts foreign to him, as if they belonged to someone else. Then he saw something resembling a colorful, iridescent steam moving out of the young man's frame and into Francis's body. As soon as the transfer was complete, Francis removed his hands and the body collapsed on the ground. Yes, now it was a body. Through his daze, Arthur's mind realized as much.

Suddenly, he noticed Francis watching him. His eyes had an unnatural, fiery, almost orange color as he walked towards the smaller blond – whose mind was almost blank at this point - smiling his usual warm smile.

"Is he dead?" the green-eyed blond heard himself asking – in a completely casual tone - what was in fact obvious.

"Yes, Arthur," Francis answered in his usual soothing, gentle tone.

"Why?"

"Because we are demons. And that's what we do."

**_To be continued_ **


	5. Chapter 5

When Arthur woke up in his bed, hours later, his head was throbbing and his mouth was dry. In the absolute, complete blur that currently plagued his mind, he could only remember clearly what Francis had said: _"Because we are demons. And that's what we do"_. They did what? They killed? _What the sodding hell do demons do anyway?_

The green-eyed blond sat up slowly and saw the Frenchman seated comfortably at the end of the bed, looking at him curiously, yet his gaze was kind and pleasant, as always. Before Arthur could say anything, he stretched and handed the drummer a glass of water. Of course, _he just_ _knew_ what the other needed.

"Arthur, I don't want you to be afraid of me. You have absolutely no reason to. We never hurt innocents," he said softly while the Englishman drank greedily, as if he'd spent days lost in a scorching desert.

Had he even had anything to drink the night before? Good God, he couldn't even remember that much! When he was done, the smaller blond put the glass down and sank into the pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. Yes, well bloody hell, he thought, if Francis was a demon, then he was not afraid of him. And not because he was not afraid of demons per se – anyone in their right mind would have been - but because Francis was not the one demon he was afraid of.

"But not all demons are like that, right?"

"What?"

The singer appeared genuinely surprised by the other's question. He had probably expected the Englishman to ask more details about him being a demon, Arthur thought wearily. Perhaps this would have been the polite thing to do. Or at least... the sane thing to do. Not that there was anything even remotely sane about the current circumstances. He tried to make at least some vague sense of his own thoughts while struggling with the overwhelming emotional fatigue.

"I mean, some demons do hurt innocents, don't they?" Better stare shit in the face now, the green-eyed blond asserted inwardly.

There was a strange gleam in Francis' eyes for a brief moment and he seemed to ponder somewhat before replying. "Well yeah, there are demons who do that, but we don't, we never-"

"Francis, I'm scared," the drummer blurted out, suddenly deciding to let him know everything. Since he probably already knew parts of it, he could very well know it all.

The Frenchman scooted closer, a look of concern on his face.

"A demon is tormenting me. He came into my dreams, he haunted me until he almost became… present. And every single time he made me feel so… he told me I should die. I think he is trying to kill me!"Arthur confessed, fingers fisting desperately into the duvet as he spoke. The singer listened in concentration as words rolled out of the other's mouth almost desperately. But Arthur didn't have that much to say, he had really thought that he could speak about his pain for ages, but when it came to it, he ended up saying it all in a few short phrases.

"When I moved in here with you I thought I was free, that he was gone, but then I met him again… and I realized I had been only deceiving myself. I am not healed. His voice still holds me prisoner..."

Francis rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

"You saw him too, tonight," the Englishman added, willing to also give his demon a name and a face.

The singer took his time before he replied. "Arthur, you have nothing to be afraid of now. With us. Now you are safe," he said at last, in the most soothing tone he could muster, reaching and resting his hand on the smaller blond's shoulder.

"But Francis, I need to know if this is real, or it's just me losing my mind! I need to know!" the Englishman whimpered, feeling like his last straw of sanity was slipping away from him in that very moment.

"Whether he is a demon or not?"

"Yes!"

"He is. I told you before."

"But this is crazy!"

Warm, gently hands cupped the drummer's face. "I know, Arthur. But all I'm worried about is you being afraid of me, of us. I just want you to feel safe here, with us. Nothing else matters, everything else can be solved. Trust me, ok?"

The green-eyed blond was tired and felt like crying. His head fell numbly on Francis's shoulder as the other held him in a tight embrace.

* * *

Arthur sat with his head in his hand, slouched over the small kitchen table in his step brother's apartment, currently subjected to Allistor's random ranting about his job, new roommate, old boyfriend, new boyfriend and... well at some point the Englishman had lost track of the topics which changed faster than it would have taken him to even open his mouth in reply. The band had been away for two months and they were all quite tired. Francis and Gilbert had decided to spend a couple of weeks with some common friends, while Antonio had flown to meet his boyfriend. The drummer had taken the time off to get some rest and spend some time with his pain-in-the-ass of a brother. Or at least he had planned it so, before his mobile rang unexpectedly.

The blond listened to Francis's voice in shock, his hand on the phone trembling. When the call ended, he simply dropped it and remained still.

"Arthur? What's wrong, laddie?" the Scot asked.

His younger brother swallowed hard before he could answer. "Antonio…. had a car accident. He missed his flight and rented a car to get back home…. It's weird, since he hated driving…. I don't know. He's... he's dead."

"Ah bloody hell, I'm sorry!" Allistor offered, a large heavy palm landing on the blond's back, nearly having his upper side slammed into the table.

"I mean, I didn't really know him so well, we didn't talk much but…." In all honesty, Arthur didn't know what to think of Antonio's death. It was much too soon. He had been more like an acquaintance, but not a close friend, as was Francis, and sadness hadn't really taken him in yet. "Anyway, the chaps are coming back, we'll have to see what we can do for his family, what we're going to tell the press and…. I'm sorry Al, I was hoping I'd get the chance to spend some time with you, I was really looking forward to it..."

"That's alright laddie, we'll do this some other time. Got too much on me hands as it is," the redhead replied.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Antonio's accident. It had been quite uncomfortable for the Englishman, as most of the time he'd had no idea what to do, how to act, he'd been completely unprepared for such an event. Ever since he had joined the band, everything around him had been full of energy, fun, and speed. He had never imagined what would be like if one of them died. Death seemed out of place here, it just didn't seem possible. So Arthur began telling himself that probably this was what he needed to get his feet back on the ground, to be reminded that he wasn't living a fairytale after all.

Francis seemed to be affected by this _thing_ too. But he was a demon, while Antonio had been human, like him. So what did the demon really think of the death of his human friend? Did it mean anything to him? Did it just confirm to him how fragile, even pathetic humans were? The drummer couldn't stop watching him and Gilbert - their every movement emanating sheer power - and thinking how unbreakable, how fantastic they were. What was he next to them? _Almost nothing._ Such were his thoughts as they both walked in the large living and plopped down on the couch, in front of the blond.

"Arthur, I know it's been a tough time for everyone, now with what's happened to Antonio," Francis began, "but right now we have to talk about the band, make some plans..."

The Englishman instantly panicked. Were they going to tell him that they were giving up the band? Or that they wanted him out?

"Yeah, we were planning a lot of things before this happened so now it's kind of crucial that we find a replacement for Antonio, real fast," Gilbert stated.

The green-eyed blond couldn't help sighing in relief.

"So I was thinking of calling Freak Garage Studios to see maybe they let us organize another audition there, just like we did for the drummer audition," Francis added.

"Oh, that's…. great!" Arthur mumbled, for lack of better words.

"The add will probably be out in a couple of days, but I'm telling you Arthur, it's gonna be a tough shit," he went on.

But the drummer was just so happy they were going to go on with the band that he didn't really care about other details. They chatted for a while, Gilbert explaining what skills they were supposed to look for in a new guitarist and how he didn't think they'd find what they needed in just one week, that it would probably take much longer, as most of those whom he considered 'good guitar players' were already taken or had their own band. Then he stood up and went to call their manager and Arthur decided to go do a bit of a warm-up rehearsal after the long break. He'd discovered it was quite easy to 'lose touch' if he didn't practice regularly.

"Arthur, wait a minute," Francis said, smiling.

"What?"

The Frenchman moved next to the smaller blond on the couch and produced a big black velvet box out of his bag.

"What's this?"

The singer smiled mysteriously. "It's something I want you to have, _mon ami_."

The green-eyed blond stared questioningly at the box now placed in his lap. It seemed like a jewel box, just that it was… too big. He opened it slowly - almost fearful - and stared even more confused at the contents. Inside there was a sort of necklace, very thick, made of several intertwined metallic chains. From every chain there hung a small lock. Still smiling, Francis picked up the strange jewel and slipped it over his head and arranged it around his neck. It was quite heavy, pressing on his neck, shoulders and the upper part of his chest.

The Englishman smiled wryly, puzzled. "Francis… what exactly is this thing?"

The other's lips moved close to his ear."It gives you my power. Now you are part of the 'family'," he whispered.

"Not sure I follow…."

"When you put one of these chains around someone's neck, they will belong to us!" he said, his right hand clenching into a fist as his face twisted into a grin Arthur had never seen before, but somehow he felt the corners of his own mouth lifting to mirror his friend's expression. Francis leaned in and kissed his forehead.

* * *

After one and a half weeks of auditions, they had become experts in politely refusing people. Gilbert for one had grown more and more pessimistic at their odds of ever getting a new guitarist. It was a rainy evening and they were all in a gloomy mood. Arthur watched the rain drops sliding down the window of their small rented place at the Freak Garage Studios, listening to the constant, monotonous dripping. It had been almost an hour since the last guy had left. The digital clock above the door showed 9:30 p.m.

"Guys, I think we should just pick our stuff and call it a night," Gilbert suggested, stifling a yawn of boredom.

But Francis, who had been sitting motionless, lost in thought, stood up slowly and drew in a deep breath. "I don't think this is working, _mes amis_ ," he said shaking his head. "I'm saying we do this differently."

"What do you mean?" Gilbert asked, a look of sudden concern flashing into the crimson orbs.

"Just… have a bit more patience, both of you. Please, _mes amis_. Let's wait a bit longer."

Gilbert glanced at the drummer questioningly, but Arthur had no idea what Francis was talking about. A few minutes passed in silence, before there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in!" Francis called, and for one second the Englishman could have sworn he'd seen him rubbing his hands.

Then _he_ walked in. The green-eyed blond froze in his place and he stopped breathing. Alfred was there, before his very eyes. _NO! No bloody fucking way!_ He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. What _the sodding hell_ was he doing here? The drummer glanced quickly at Gilbert and saw his expression change too. The albino turned pale and frowned.

"Francis, you can't do that!" the Prussian whispered angrily.

"Well it damn looks like I can!" Francis hissed back, grinning savagely.

Green eyes trailed back to Alfred and suddenly what Gilbert had said made sense. His eyes were empty, like a corpse's. He'd stopped in the middle of the room and just stared blankly in front of him. Arthur took a step back, stumbling and nearly fell over the drum set. In a second, Francis was close to him, hand cupping the smaller blond's face.

"Look at him, Arthur," he whispered. "Don't you want to silence him? Forever…."

"No! Francis! Don't do this to him!" Gilbert shouted, but no one paid him any attention.

"It's so simple, Arthur, _mon cher_. Imagine… he's perfect for us…. And if he were ours, he'd never ever hurt you again. He'd just play _for us_ and you would never hear his voice again…. Never."

The Englishman looked at the newcomer again while Francis suggestively touched his necklace. A wave of mixed emotions washed over him - longing, pain, anger, hatred, love, more pain.

"Ok, let's get it on with it," Francis said. "I want to try _The night._ "

Still shaking his head in disapproval, Gilbert brought a guitar and carefully placed it in Alfred's limp hands.

"Come on, Arthur, let's do what Francis says," the albino advised, handing him his drumsticks, the discomfort obvious in his voice.

The green-eyed blond simply dropped on his chair behind the drums, clutching the sticks in his hands stupidly. But then Francis's voice resounded in the room and everything fell into place once more.

* * *

In the back of his mind Arthur hadn't wanted this to work. He had wanted the American to screw up, but he blended in perfectly with the rest of them. He _was bloody perfect_ for them. While he'd played, he'd seemed perfectly alive, a human being with a will of his own, but when the music stopped he became once more _a body_. Just flesh.

The smaller blond stood up and walked over to where his demon was, unstable on his own feet. Francis came from behind and placed his arms around him protectively.

"I want you to do it, Arthur," he whispered. "If you don't, the spell will wear out."

The drummer threw a quick glance in Gilbert's direction, but the albino just stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest and said nothing. He wasn't even looking at him.

"Gilbert will be fine with it, don't worry. Everything's going to be fine," Francis added reassuringly.

Arthur pulled one of the chains from his necklace and weighted it in his hand, before reaching up to place it around Alfred's neck. His head was already bowed, his eyes almost closed and his dirty blond bangs hanging loosely on his white forehead. The drummer was relieved that at least he wasn't looking at him, it would have been too much to bear. Even now, so close, Alfred seemed completely surreal to him.

"Careful, do not touch him. It can be dangerous," Francis said softly.

The Englishman looked let the chain hang loose and withdrew his hands. And it was done.

_**To be continued** _

 


	6. Chapter 6

Warning : mention of drug abuse

* * *

A few months passed. Shows came and went; a new album was on the way. When you were a demon, everything was simple. Especially lying. It had not been a problem for Francis to explain how Alfred F. Jones had suddenly decided to abandon his own well known, successful band in which he was lead singer just for the sake of being a guitarist in D.S.T.D., a band which played a fairly different style of music. Or rather, to make _him_ explain. For Francis, apparently there was no such word as 'impossible'. Ever since he'd brought Alfred in, he'd grown more and more bold. More and more true to his demonic nature. The shows became increasingly spectacular, the pyrotechnics more dangerous. Now they did that all the time. Gilbert however remained pretty much the same and seemed to have no opinion on the matter, he just followed, like a mere puppet on strings. Just like Alfred did.

That night, after the show, the band had ended up in an underground club and just mingled with the crowd, enjoying a drink while no one could recognize them. Well, actually 'enjoying' was a figure of speech, because Arthur stood motionless in his dark corner, drink in hand, watching the band's newest member as he brought the thin sheet to his nose and inhaled deeply. The blond sunk to the floor with his back propped against the wall, letting his head fall back. The girl who was with him laughed loudly and licked his ear. She was just as stoned as he was.

"Just look what he is doing to himself…" Francis whispered in the Englishman's ear.

Yes, he was hurting himself, and Arthur wasn't sorry for him, not sad, he wasn't even glad that the one true demon was punishing himself with his own hand. The green-eyed youth simply stood there numb. Just like the drummer was doing most of the time lately: he would just watch Alfred, his every move, and be numb, void of feelings. He could no longer feel any pain, just as he could no longer feel anything else.

At length, he pulled himself together enough to speak, trying to make it look like he sort of cared. "Francis, maybe we should-"

"It's his choice, Arthur," the singer said in a firm tone. "And if he treats himself this way, if he torments even himself, of course he torments you."

The smaller blond failed to comprehend what that meant.

"He enjoys it," the Frenchman added. "Listen Arthur, I've got to get to Gorgs tonight, I'm meeting someone and I'll probably be late, can you and Gilbert make sure that Jones gets home, one way or the other? Most unfortunately, we still need him."

"Sure, we'll take care of it," Arthur replied, relieved that the other hadn't delved any deeper into the subject.

As soon as the singer was out the door, Gilbert came over and said he wanted to leave as well. He wanted to put on a little rehearsal in Francis's absence. The drummer walked reluctantly over to the place where Alfred sat and sat next to him, watching him again, in silence. He'd intended to just get him on his feet so they could all go home, but now all the Englishman could do was stare.

"Since you've decided to honour me with your presence, perhaps we can talk," Alfred mumbled, giving him an ironical look as he pushed the groupie away.

"What about?" Arthur was almost whispering. The other's proximity was once more intimidating, and he suddenly hated him for it.

"Your soul," the American replied and giggled, leaning forward.

"I've lost my soul, a while ago." The green-eyed blond wasn't smiling back. In fact, he was quite sure that his face was crumpling.

"Oh, crap! How did that happen?"

"You took it from me." He'd never thought that he would actually be able to open his mouth and say that. Not to _him_.

Alfred scratched his head, unsure what to answer to that. "Is that a way of saying you are in love with me?" he finally said in a flirty tone. "Geez, I thought you hated me..."

Arthur felt the rush of blood in his cheeks together with the anger that clenched his fists. But what else did he expect from his confession other than a terrible humiliation? "Don't get me wrong, I do hate you. Now get your ass up, we've got to get home and practice a little before bedtime." he hissed, grinning awkwardly.

The taller blond stood up with difficulty, shaking his head to get rid of the drowsiness. "So you don't love me?" he asked confused, as he followed the drummer and Gilbert towards the exit.

"Even the word sounds filthy in your mouth," the Englishman replied, without turning.

* * *

The small studio was almost dark. Gilbert pressed various buttons, adjusting the sound system.

"I just want us to rehearse a bit on music. It's a sort of playback, but it's a good exercise. When I'm no longer over preoccupied with the sound I can really focus on my fingers" he explained.

"So what song do you want to play?" the green-eyed blond asked quickly, trying to get his mind off the episode from earlier. He threw Alfred a short glance, searching his features. But he had just picked up his guitar and was fingering the cords absentmindedly, as usual. He could speak when needed, he could speak when asked, but that was always short. Now he had returned to the puppet like state. Arthur almost expected to see some magic strings attached to his limbs.

" _Stupid_ , if you don't mind. It's my favourite," Gilbert replied, giving him a warm smile.

It was the first rehearsal without Francis and the drummer felt strangely comfortable in his absence. He knew that the singer would have never approved of this, he was a perfectionist. His voice, suddenly breaking out loudly through the speakers in the intro, startled him.

Suddenly Arthur remembered why he didn't like this song. The music was good, but the lyrics were too painful. Francis had told him he'd felt despised and rejected when he'd written it. _Rejected_. That was something all too familiar to him. Something that he had only recently managed to get over. He couldn't help it, his gaze trailed off from the drum set over to Alfred. Arthur had always felt rejected by most of the people around him, not to mention by _him_. _Unworthy_. The Frenchman had said that the other had messed with his mind. But apart from that, what had he really done or said to give Arthur this overwhelming feeling?

_Stupid_. He didn't know what to think anymore, except for the fact that tonight _he had gotten himself hurt_. Alfred was drunk; he had no idea what he was saying. And he wasn't himself anymore anyway.

" _Don't you want to silence him? Forever…."_

The Englishman had silenced him. And then he had tried to talk to him. How stupid, how absurd. Why was he tormenting himself over this yet again, when he'd thought it was over? But it wasn't over, it had never been over, his numbness just concealed the sickness. It had been there all along, eating at him, slowly but surely. Francis had said… Francis had said there was nothing wrong with him, with the way he was thinking, that it had been his fault, Alfred's fault. He was the monster, and Arthur was supposed to confront him. And he would help…

The green-eyed blond didn't even realize when he stood up from his chair behind the drum set and walked over to the American. It was just as if he didn't wake up until he was in front of him. Almost without his will, Arthur's hand reached out to touch his face, causing the other to stop playing and stare at him. He had to know. Fingers trailed over the taller blond's left cheek, then down to his neck. The drummer felt the pulse under the warm skin. Humanly warm, not demonically hot as he'd expected. _Like Francis'._ Alfred flinched slightly and took one short step back, suddenly glancing at his feet, avoiding his gaze. The Englishman took his head with both hands, lifting his chin and forcing him to look back into his eyes.

"Do you think I'm disgusting? Do you think I should die?" he whispered in one breath, words rolling out of his mouth almost out of control.

Alfred did not answer, just slowly and gently pushed the smaller blond's hands away.

"Speak now! I want to hear it! I bloody want to hear everything! Say it to my face if you dare! TELL ME I'M NOT WORTHY TO LIVE! TELL ME HOW MUCH I BLOODY DISGUST YOU! TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU HATE ME! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Do it now!" Arthur shouted, boiling with anger, covering up Francis's voice from the speakers.

The American's face suddenly crumpled and he shook his head. "No…." he whispered.

"No WHAT?!"

"I… I think you're beautiful," he managed to mumble, a bit louder.

" _What_ ….?"

"I don't know what you're so angry about…" he said bowing his head again.

Arthur stared at him simply dumbstruck. The truth had finally hit him and he was stunned. His mind went black. He collapsed on his knees, on the floor. The music stopped suddenly and Gilbert put his guitar down quickly, telling Alfred to go to his room as he kneeled beside the Englishman, gently placing an arm around his shoulders. Alfred obeyed in silence. The green-eyed blond buried his face in his hands. Everything was spinning around him. Everything was mad. Everything he had believed was a lie. But now he knew. Alfred was no demon; he was just as human as he was. Just that he was helpless, imprisoned by the spell which made him their slave. _Imprisoned by me_.

The drummer jumped upright on his legs, pushing away Gilbert's arm and ran after him, to his room.

"Alfred, you must run! You must get out of here now!" he screamed, trembling. There was only one thing on his mind, and that was that the evil had to be undone.

Alfred had stopped in the middle of the room, half turned, and stared at him in a strange way. He didn't move and this time showed no sign he was actually hearing the other. Desperate at his lack of reaction, Arthur charged forward and pulled the chain over his head, off his neck, throwing it angrily on the floor and starting to shake his shoulders.

"Alfred! You have to wake up! Look at me!" he yelled.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" the albino asked from the doorframe. "Francis's not going like that."

"And do you like _that_? Do you?!"

The demon walked over to them and picked up the chain from the floor. "Arthur, listen. This is not the time for this." He placed the chain back around Alfred's neck and gently pulled the smaller blond out of the room. "Come on, let's talk, while Francis's not around," he said.

* * *

"Well, what did you want us to talk about while Francis is not around?" the Englishman asked as soon as they were both sat in the living-room.

"Well Arthur, you know that we demons can read minds. Not each other's minds, fortunately, but… Anyway, the thing is that I know what's going on with you just as much as Francis does. Does that bother you?"

"No…" he shrugged.

"I mean to say I know about Jones," Gilbert explained.

The drummer hugged his knees in the armchair and said nothing. What was there to be said?

"I also know that Francis promised to help you get over this… addiction," the albino went on. "But instead, he brought him here. Did you find that helpful?"

Arthur glanced at him, wondering why he wanted to know. "No, it wasn't helpful at all, in fact until… just a few moments ago, it was sort of terrible. But now I just… discovered the truth. Getting close to him made me realize that, you know, he's just a human being. Not quite the demon I thought he was. And now he doesn't hold anymore power over me."

"But you have done that yourself," Gilbert observed.

"Done what?"

"You got over your obsession. You realized it all by yourself that what you had been feeling was… unnatural."

"Unnatural? It was plain sick!" the Englishman replied.

The demon gave him an odd look, appearing thoughtful, like he was pondering whether to say something or not. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Look Arthur, what I'm trying to say is that Francis never meant to help you. It was never part of his plan."

The green-eyed blond stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Um... see, when the two of us started the band, well, Francis thought we didn't need to use our powers in any way to make ourselves popular and stuff. He even wanted us to enter this stupid band competition and... well, in short we got seriously hammered. Jones' band won though and Francis has hated him ever since. And then, rather recently, on one gloomy autumn day we were in a supermarket and suddenly you walked in – with a cheap umbrella, boring grey suit and shit tie – and he knew you were the one for him. And although he can't be with you as long as you're human, he knew right from the start that you have potential to become like us."

"Potential?"

"All the negative experiences you had during your life, all the pain you stuffed down over the years. That's a very powerful thing. The capacity for hatred. But it's not enough, in order to transform, you must let it out. You must end a life. And so, he came up with this little plan and everything went quite smoothly. He induced you an obsession for Jones, even made it look like the man haunted you."

Arthur flinched and closed his eyes. End a life? Of course, Francis did that himself, _ended lives_. But surely he could not expect him to do it. Just because the drummer had accepted what _he was_ …

"That's right; he wants you to kill him. That's why he told you the whole obsession thing was his fault, that he caused it on purpose. For someone in your condition, this was the easiest thing to believe. And he knew he could make it bad enough to push you to do it."

Green orbs shone with unshed tears as the blond took a deep breath to hold them back. "That sounds just so sick, so cruel! Why are you telling me all this?"

Gilbert stood and walked slowly to the fireplace, leaning against it. "You know how Francis always says that demons are everywhere and in everything… It's true. Except that, while there is evil in everything, there is also good. Wherever there's darkness, there's also light. Nothing is completely black or completely white. This is the balance of our world. This balance keeps us all alive." He paused and lit up a cigarette. "The thing is, if it were gone, we'd all be destroyed, us demons as well as… the other side. You get it, Arthur?"

"I suppose…"

"Well Francis doesn't. He wants to rule. His desire for power is controlling him. He refuses to respect the basic rule: remain in the shadows. We sort of created a form of expression for what we represent, but it doesn't mean that our fans must become our followers, or our slaves, or a new race of demonic people," the albino said taking a long drag and blowing the smoke up. "We should only create awareness." That made sense, sort of...

"But you say Francis wants much more…" the Englishman said.

"And you know it too, Arthur. You've seen it yourself… Every day he grows bolder."

The other avoided his gaze, simply feeling that his world was falling to pieces. Again.

"It's just, you know, Francis's been so close to me ever since I met you all. And he's been so good to me, and he helped me in so many ways and I've never really met anyone like him… I guess that's why I chose to ignore other things…"

The demon gave him a sad smile. "Do you love him?"

"I'm not in love with him… I… he's been my best friend lately..."

Gilbert walked up to his armchair and knelt in front of it. "Arthur, a lot of things have happened that weren't supposed to. He must be stopped."

"You mean he must be killed," the blond whispered.

"Sent back is a nicer way to put it, I guess. The thing is I need you to be on my side on this."

Arthur sighed. "What do I have to do if I'm to be on your side?

"He's given you the chains necklace. He's gonna ask you to use it against me. See, I was human once and I'm not as powerful as him. But I'm gonna do this anyway, I have to, Arthur. All I'm asking of you is to not be against me."

The drummer stood up slowly, feeling dizzy. It was a bit too much for him to take, all at once. "When- when do you plan to confront him?" he asked in a faint voice.

"Tonight"

"What, tonight? You can't…"

"I want you to go to your room and stay there. Keep yourself safe, he'll call you but don't get out, no matter what."

_**To be continued** _


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur laid in his bed, all curled up and trembling, for what seemed to be endless hours. His ears were alert, checking out every sound that might have meant that the Frenchman was back. Suddenly – as unthinkable as that may have been - this place he had become so attached to, his new home, had become a battle ground and he wished he was anywhere else right now. His eyes had been opened and his feet had been placed back on the ground, but it was too late to get out of there; he knew that Francis would have undoubtedly pursued him.

The Englishman's fate was sealed, unless Gilbert won the fight. But could he do it? Arthur would rather have not thought too much for the pros and cons of that, considering how he didn't understand much of what he'd been just told. He didn't know how the demon world worked and he didn't care. It didn't make any difference right now.

And then it began. It wasn't in the house, but outside - a powerful, violent storm broke out unexpectedly, shaking the windows, rain and hailstone whipping against the glass. But Arthur simply _felt_ what it was and buried his head deep between the pillows, trying uselessly to escape the deafening sounds that grew louder by the minute. Then he heard the singer's voice.

" _Mon cher_ _Arthur, come out… Come out now….."_

The green-eyed blond pressed his palms over his ears.

" _Don't betray me, my love… "_

" _I will love you until the end of time…"_

_Love. What a screwed word. What does it mean, anyway?_ The voice sunk deep into every organ of his body and Arthur began to pant, gasping for air. The accursed jewel around his neck pulled down his shoulders, suddenly heavy, crushing, suffocating, burning his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

"YOU LIED TO ME!" The Englishman screamed, not bearing the pressure any longer. Tears blurring his vision, he pulled the necklace over his head and threw it away. Pain over his so-called friend's betrayal momentarily overpowered the horror of what was going on. He'd hoped, he'd really hoped...

" _If I die, you will die with me…. I can't let you live."_

"You're a monster… you're a monster!" the drummer yelled again, from the top of his lungs. He wasn't afraid anymore, just unbearably angry.

" _You are too precious to me, Arthur…"_

"STOP IT! STOP LYING!" The blond suddenly felt sick and collapsed on the ground, next to the bed. Blood came gushing out of his nose and his vision blurred further.

"Go to hell, Francis!" he mumbled, feeling weaker and weaker. "Go back to hell..."

" _Mon petit Arthur… you will not survive me… unless you obey!"_

Yet the Englishman did not die. His whole body ached, and the pain lasted an eternity, and more. Hours passed, years passed and ages passed around him and through him and it still would not stop. Somehow, independent of his now dead will and reason, a part of Arthur still struggled for life. His heart refused to stop beating. He had nearly blacked out when somebody's arms pulled him up from the hard floor and a soft hand lifted his head.

"Arthur?" a voice whispered and green orbs looked up, blinking slowly as they disbelievingly took in Alfred's face. The smaller blond made one last effort to raise his hand and pull at the chain around the other's neck. "Throw it away! Now…" he breathed out, almost inaudibly.

The American simply obeyed, puppet-like as always, much to the drummer's despair.

* * *

"Arthur! Oh laddie, ye're up! Oh, ye got me so scared! I really didn't deserve this, ye know?!" The loud ranting broke violently into the Englishman's headache, amplifying it tenfold.

"Mmmmh... Al?" he moaned, licking his dry lips as bleary eyes slowly took in the white hospital room and his brother's face framed by wild red hair which provided a violent visual contrast.

"Good thing Mum didn't find out, otherwise there would have been the focking drama of the bloody century here, I tell ye," Allistor went on, not bothering to lower his voice in the slightest.

"What…?"

A large, strong hand went down to ruffle the younger sibling's hair. "Doctors said ye were exhausted, dehydrated, bla bla… some complicated rubbish I couldn't follow, but ain't nothin' serious, aye. Actually, ye can go home right now! One of yer lads, Gil...-bert I reckon, has been here the whole time; I think he's waiting for ye, so he can give ye a ride back…"

Arthur's body suddenly relaxed from the previously unacknowledged tension. His heavy eyelids fell shut as he sunk into the soft pillows, taking a deep breath, relieved. _Thank God, he's alive! And if he's alive... it can only mean that everything is over._

* * *

The blond climbed up in the car, feeling still a bit shaky and dizzy and stared down tiredly at his hands clutched together in his lap as he heard Gilbert taking the driver's seat. But the Englishman wouldn't look at him, not just yet. Instead, he let his weary gaze sweep over the almost empty parking lot – a large expanse of bare, cold concrete, still wet after the heavy rain.

"So it's over. You made it… He's gone," Arthur whispered at last. He closed his eyes and suddenly had a vision of endless fields of ash.

"No, Arthur. We made it." Gilbert reached out and touched his arm gently, making the blond snap back from the vision. He lifted his gaze to meet the albino's and found himself smiling back at him, albeit rather weakly.

The demon sighed, giving the other's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yeah, Francis is gone for good. We no longer have to ever think about him." There was no hint of victory in his voice, only weariness and a certain feeling of sadness. At any rate, easier said than done – never think about him ever again...

"And what's going to happen now?"

Arthur chewed his lip, a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps it had been somewhat of a random thing to ask, under the circumstances. What did he want to happen? The green-eyed youth didn't know. Maybe he'd have to go back to his old job. For some reason, the perspective didn't appear so grim anymore. He'd move back with Al and listen to his tantrums, clean his mess... Fair enough.

But Gilbert's face suddenly lit up at the question, as he were genuinely glad it'd been asked. Or maybe he was just relieved for the change of subject. "Well I was thinking of starting a new band, start fresh…. And if you'd still be willing to be with me in this…?" he said enthusiastic.

Well, actually Arthur would have loved to and gladly let him now. The albino smiled widely, but then sighed again.

"You know, about Jones… he can't stay, Arthur."

The blond nodded silently. No, that much was clear.

"It's not that I don't like him, or that he isn't a good guitar player, hell, he's very good, but….. It's not fair and… we can't do this kind of stuff anymore."

The Englishman stared down at his hands again, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. Getting over Francis was one thing, but getting over his own guilt... "I know… I just fucked up everything didn't I? I fucked up his entire life. Can we fix that? Is it even possible?"

"Yes we can. Everything will be just like before."

* * *

When they arrived back at the house, Alfred was in the kitchen, sipping from a cup of coffee. The green-eyed blond had seen his luggage in the hall on their way in and he'd already felt somewhat better. Upon seeing Arthur, the American rose from his chair and began rubbing the back of his neck with a clumsy gesture.

"Arthur, you're back!" he said, surprised. "I'd hoped you would be…. Well… ok. Are you ok now? We took you to the hospital the other night."

"I-I know…" the smaller blond said awkwardly, shrugging it off as if it was nothing.

"Gilbert said there was no big deal after all," Alfred added, smiling reassuringly.

"Yes, I'm… I'm fine now. There was nothing to worry about. I seem to have overworked myself and…"

"Listen, I don't know if Gilbert already told you, but I'm leaving. I've decided that a while ago, you know, that I want to go back… to my band and now with Bonnefoy gone too, I thought there was no reason to… well, delay it further. I'm sorry… "

Arthur nodded slowly. It was the right thing. Still, his sheepish smile turned somewhat sad. All this time it had been like a fire had burned inside of him, however consuming and accursed, but now it had left nothing but cold ashes behind. And that emptiness...would be hard to bear.

"It's just... don't get me wrong, it was so cool here with you guys, and you're great and… I don't want you to think that's why I'm leaving, but you know, for a while I really wanted to do something different, play something different, get away from the whole burden of being front man, writing songs, you know, all that…"

Again, the Englishman forced himself to smile. _Could it really be possible? For him to get his old life back?_ "So, now you return to what suits you best, I suppose…"

"Yeah, something like that". The taller blond returned the smile, only his was genuine, unguarded. "Um, by the way, whatever happened to Bonnefoy? I didn't really get it, he just… left?" he asked a bit concerned.

Arthur flinched inwardly but his mind was quick in making up a lie. "Actually, while you were… not around, we had a fight. Me and Gilbert and him… Um, he said that we were sort of… holding him back or something like that, that he wanted more, a lot more than this… Um, I'm not really sure what that really means, but that's how he said it. He said he would start a new band, or start on his own, I don't know…" he explained quickly.

"I see… well. I'm sure things will be ok for you guys," the American said reassuringly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Um… I'd better get going now."

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

The green-eyed blond opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out at first was a deep sigh. "I'm sorry for…" he whispered.

"Hey, there's nothing you should be sorry about. It's gonna be ok." But he looked nervous all the sudden and again began rubbing the back of his neck. "So, Arthur... you know, I was wondering...if you'd..." Alfred didn't finish, instead leaned in and pressed his lips onto the other's cheek, letting them linger for a bit.

"Y-yeah, sure..." Arthur murmured, surrendering to the warm embrace.

**THE END**

**England** _–_ "Good God! Did Flying Mint Bunny write this crap?!"


End file.
